


The Crane Brother

by chelonianmobile



Series: Fairytalia [2]
Category: Crane Wife Songs - The Decemberists, Hetalia: Axis Powers, 鶴の恩返し | The Crane Wife
Genre: Allegory, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Brotherhood, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Historical References, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Kink Meme, Shapeshifting, cultural erasure/repression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:28:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5205899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelonianmobile/pseuds/chelonianmobile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And all the stars were crashing round as I laid eyes on what I'd found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And All The Stars Were Crashing Round

**Author's Note:**

> Kinkmeme self-fill, I admit it. Personal favourite way to portray Kiku's behaviour towards Yong-Soo is "not exactly evil, but definitely being a massive dick and won't admit it", so be warned that's coming. Whatever the actual countries did or do (and in this case it was horrible), I don't like to really villainise the nation-tans. Seems to go against the spirit of the thing for me, your mileage may vary. On the other hand, leaving out the ramifications of human awfulness from their interactions entirely is a bit jarring. Neither here nor there because this is a non-nation AU, but that's the way I tend to write them anyway and there will be analogues.

High upon the mountainside in the land beyond the rising sun, there was a small and lonely hut, and in it lived a poor and lonely man. Kiku Honda was his name, and all he had to it was his hut and his hardworking hands. In summer he foraged, and in winter he hunted, and all times he cut and carried wood to earn the little money he needed. He enjoyed his peace and quiet and he always had just enough to eat. And if he was alone, what of that?

One year a winter came harsh and early, and Kiku took his bow and arrows and went to hunt for food. He moved as silently as any beast of the forest, but the winter was so harsh they had all fled for warmer climes. Further down the mountain he went, but the snow blew up and the wind howled and the steel-grey sky grew dark, and Kiku had only rags for a coat. He had made up his mind to turn and try again tomorrow when he saw movement, and quick as a flash he fired an arrow. There was a screech, almost lost in the wind, and he ran towards it, finding a trail of red rapidly being hidden by the falling snow.

To his horror, when he found the fallen creature, it was a crane; a beautiful bird, with long soot-black legs and ink-black wings and night-black head on a body as white as the snow, and a cap of feathers as red as the blood on its wing. Kiku held it, surprised it did not struggle, and examined its wing; nothing more than a flesh wound, it would heal well in time. He broke the arrowhead and drew the shaft out, and held packed snow to the wound until the bird stopped bleeding. He helped the bird to its feet and watched it run flapping away with no regret for a lost meal, for everyone in the land beyond the sunrise knew it is the worst of luck to slay a crane.

Kiku went to bed hungry but content that night, saving the little food he had for when he would truly need it. He awoke to see the snow had stopped, and the dawn made the white ground shine like gold. A good omen, he thought, and took his bow and arrows to hunt again, but as he opened his door, he heard a merry song echoing up the mountain.

_"Look on me, look on me, look on me! In midwinter when you see a flower, please think of me!"_

The singer turned around the mountainside, and Kiku saw him; a youth with snow-white clothes and soot-black shoes and night-black hair, and cheeks flushed blood-red from the cold. He stopped singing and looked up to see the astonished man.

"Hello there, sir!" called the boy in an unfamiliar accent, waving a hand.

"Hello yourself!" said Kiku. "What are you doing this far up a mountain at dawn? Where are your parents?"

"I have none, sir." The boy arrived at the door, and bowed politely, a curl of his hair bobbing as he did.

"You're lost?" Kiku cried.

"I didn't say that, sir."

"Well, come in, you'll freeze out here." Kiku urged the boy inside, and let him take off his soft black shoes. "I can boil a little rice if you're hungry. I'm sorry I haven't much to offer."

"Not a problem, sir," said the boy, shaking off his coat outside. Kiku saw the snow crystals fall from it, leaving the glossy white cloth as dry as if they had never been there. "I intend to pay you back one day. I pay my debts, _da se!"_ He smiled as warmly as a sunbeam.

"Let us not speak of debts now, boy, I think introductions are in order first. I am Honda Kiku, what is your name?"

"It's nice to meet you, Honda-ssi," said the boy, bowing again. "Im Yong-Soo, at your service."

"It is nice to meet you too... Imu Yonsu?" Kiku bowed, and if Yong-Soo giggled at his pronunciation, what of that?


	2. And It Rakes At My Heart

Kiku knelt neatly and ate neatly, and the boy sat in a pile of his own gangly legs and ate as clumsily as if he'd never seen chopsticks before. Kiku tutted. "I see it's true you have no parents. See, boy, eat nicely, like this." He demonstrated, picking up small clumps of rice, and the boy nodded and copied. "Good, that's good. Now sit properly... Much better. Again, I'm sorry there isn't more. Eat slowly and appreciate it. I must hunt today. Perhaps I'll be luckier than yesterday. Tell me, do you hunt?"

"Nmf-" Yong-Soo swallowed. "Not very well, Honda-ssi. I fish better, but the rivers are all frozen. But I can repay you in a better way. May I have some sticks of wood and a quiet place to sit?"

"Would you address me as Honda-san, please? That's what we say in this land, Imu-san. And I'd be glad to find some wood, but why?"

Yong-Soo held out a hand, sleeve pulled over it, and Kiku curiously touched the cloth, as the boy seemed to mean he should. He stroked it in fascination; it was the softest, finest, whitest cloth he had ever touched. Was the boy a prince, to wear something so fine? But no, the boy's fingers brushed his hand and the pads were hard as shoe-leather... "Did you make this coat?"

"Spun the thread and wove the cloth myself, Honda-san. A secret method of my own design, _da se!"_

Kiku smiled at the boy's little verbal tic. _"Da ze_ indeed," he said, his own accent affecting it a little. "This is beautiful. What are you doing wandering homeless with this kind of talent?"

"Looking for a place to sell it, Honda-san. All I need is a spindle and a loom, and solitude."

"Why solitude?"

The boy winked. "I said it was a _secret_ method, Honda-san."

Kiku was perplexed, but curious, and so he found two straight sticks for spindles, and left Yong-Soo sitting crosslegged in the corner with the door unlocked, for what did he have for the boy to steal? In the evening he came home with a kerchief full of wild roots and a scrawny duck, and opened the door to find the boy with a spindle full of thread as white as moonlight, and another as black as shadow, so fine and soft that when he unwound them the thread could barely be seen.

"I haven't enough to weave a cloth, Honda-san, and for that I would need a loom as well," said Yong-Soo. "I'm sorry."

"No matter, boy, this is more than good enough. This is wonderful! Can you make more?"

"Not soon, I fear. The making of the thread is hard and tires me. Give it a week, sir?"

Kiku nodded, mouth dry in wonder. The sale of this thread alone could feed them both for a year. He took the boy's hands in his and said "Imu-san, would you like to go into business with me? If you spin this thread, we can sell it, and we'll both be wealthy men!"

The boy nodded. "A contract, then? I will stay and spin and weave for you, on the condition that you never try to see me work. I cannot let another find out how I do this, or the method will be lost." Their hands clasped, and the deal was made.

The next day they took the thread to market, and a wealthy woman purchased it for a high price to trim her daughter's wedding robes. Kiku had never seen so much money in his life, and the woman said nor had she seen such beautiful thread, and Yong-Soo promised more to come in a week should she or her friends want it. "Your little brother has a gift, Honda-san," she said.

Kiku opened his mouth to say Yong-Soo was not his brother but saw the joyful light in the boy's eyes, and instead said "Indeed, Yonsu-kun _is_ a gift to me."

~~~

Days turned into weeks turned into months, and while the craft was slow the product was so perfect it earned plenty. With Yong-Soo's talent and Kiku's wisdom the two made enough money to purchase a little shop in the village at the bottom of the mountain, and for some time all was well. But as the weeks turned into months, Kiku's pride turned into vanity, and his ambition turned to greed.

"Yonsu-kun, can you make three skeins of thread this week?"

"I can try, Kiku-nii!" And he did, though at the end he looked a little pale.

"Yonsu-kun, can you make a skein every day?"

"I don't know, Kiku-nii, but I can try." And he did, though at the end he was certainly pale and a little thinner.

"Yonsu-kun, we must look respectable to do business with lords and ladies. Can you make us each a kimono?"

"Why can I not wear my old clothes, Kiku-nii? They are as fine as any new ones I can make."

"Those?" Kiku looked with disdain at Yong-Soo's white coat and breeches, still as clean as fresh snow. "You cannot wear foreign clothes among high society, boy, you will make us both look like fools."

"Very well then, Kiku-nii."

"And let me cut your hair. You will look so much more respectable."

"Must I?"

"Yes."

"Very well then, Kiku-nii." And Yong-Soo let his brother cut his hair short, and wove them each a kimono of ink-black with snow-white trim. And if he looked far smaller in it, and if he slept all the time he was not working, and if the curl of his shortened hair started to droop, what of that?

~~~

"Yonsu-kun, what is this?" Kiku stopped his brother from leaving the breakfast table, at which the boy had eaten too fast and not enough, and held out a skein of white thread as fine as any Yong-Soo had ever spun, but speckled with deep red.

"I have told you, Kiku-nii, the making of the thread is hard," Yong-Soo said, eyes downcast, and held out his cracked fingers.

"If you would show me how to make it too, this wouldn't happen."

"I have told you that as well, Kiku-nii, I am the only one that can!"

"Boy, I'm not a fool. I know there is magic in your method. Why can it not extend to me?"

"Magic doesn't work that way. Only I can work this form, and it has a heavy price, which I cannot keep paying," said Yong-Soo, his voice cold for the first time.

"Surely you can just keep it up a little longer."

"That's what you said last week, and the week before that! We've made more money than we could have dreamed of and you appreciate none of it because you always want more!"

"I'm doing this for you, boy, and you appreciate none of it! You were nothing but a hungry vagabond when I found you, why can't you understand you need security?"

"Security indeed, will you chain me to my loom next? If I was hungry at least I was free!"

"That's enough!" Kiku slammed his teacup down, and it shattered on the table, and a shard flew up and cut his cheek. "Go to your workroom and do your job!"

Yong-Soo fled, and the shuttle's sound started, and Kiku's blood dripped and left thin streaks on his white yukata.

Over weeks the threads Yong-Soo made grew more and more flecked and spotted and patched with red, and Kiku took them to the river and washed and washed in the cold water until his own hands cracked and bled, and not a speck of red came off. No matter. The thread was still as fine and soft and beautiful as ever, and still sold as well, and red came into fashion. And if Yong-Soo never left his workroom any more, what of that?


	3. And I Will Hang My Head Low

Months continued to pass, and it was winter again as harsh as before, and the wealthiest in the land wore coats of Yong-Soo's making. Word of Yong-Soo's work, or rather Kiku's business as none saw Yong-Soo anymore, spread far and wide, across the sea, and one day there came a merchant from the lands beyond the sunset. He was tall and golden-haired with a voice like a hurricane, and his name was Alfred Jones, and Kiku grew to like him.

"This is beautiful, Mr Honda!" Jones said, holding a roll of black cloth as fine as cobwebs and soft as clouds and warm as summer. The sun was setting very early, as it does in winter, and the red light glimmered on the cloth. "Would you tell me how it's done?"

"I am sorry, Jones-san," Kiku said with a bow, "but that is secret."

"But if you tell me I can sell it for you in my land, and send you half the profits. My land is far bigger than yours, you'll have so many more buyers."

"No thank you, Jones-san."

"Sixty percent? Seventy?"

"That is not the problem, Jones-san. The method is inefficient. Only a small amount can be made, and only my brother holds the secret."

Jones listened, and heard the rattling of a shuttle through threads, and said "Then I'll ask him!"

"What? No!"

Jones strode towards the sound of the shuttle, and Kiku ran to stop him. Kiku reached the door of the weaving room first, and stood before it. As was the custom in the land beyond the sunrise, the door was of paper, but this one was of many layers so not even Yong-Soo's shadow could be seen.

"What's the problem?"

"Do not disturb my brother at his weaving!"

"Why not?"

"Because I say so!"

"What are you hiding from me?"

"Nothing!" cried Kiku, his voice trembling.

"Then move!"

Kiku tried to hold him back, but he was small and Jones was strong, and in the tussle he fell backwards and tore a hole in the door, and as he fell to the floor Yong-Soo looked up in fright.

The boy was thin as a rake and pale as snow, his clothes folded on the floor, and from his back and thighs and arms sprouted the snow-white and ink-black feathers of a crane. His back had been plucked almost bare and bloody, and he had started on his arm. The spindle lay beside him in a pile of soft fluff, and Kiku realised it was the barbs stripped from the quills which were scattered at the boy's taloned feet. His face was still human, though, and he looked the astonished Kiku in the eye and said in shock "You saw me."

Kiku stood up and struggled for words, and Jones looked on in equal shock, and before they could say anything a smile spread over Yong-Soo's face and he dropped the shuttle and said "You _saw_ me. You broke the contract. You swore you wouldn't try to see me, you broke your oath and now I'm _free!"_

He pushed past the two at the door and took off down the corridor at a run, laughing all the way, and Kiku shouted "Yonsu-kun... _Yong-Soo!"_ and reached out to stop him and caught only one tailfeather. The boy's feathered arms became true wings and his bones cracked and changed and the crown of his dark hair turned bloody red, and when he reached the door he leaped into the air and his scream of _"Freeeeeeee!"_ became the cry of a crane. By the time Kiku and Jones were outside, all that was left to see were the footprints of a crane in the snow and a white speck in the grey clouds, and then he was gone.

Jones looked at Kiku, and Kiku looked at the feather in his hand, and he said "... All I wanted was to give him the security I never had."

Jones looked sorrowful, as if remembering some pain, and said "Then why didn't you make sure he would want to stay?"

Kiku said nothing, for he had nothing to say. And Alfred Jones left him alone in his shop beneath the shining sunset with his shining threads and shining gold, and one last half-finished cloth of purest, deepest, bloody red.


End file.
